


Puppy Dog Tales

by awkwardgturtle



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animal Shelter, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardgturtle/pseuds/awkwardgturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is incredibly shy, almost agoraphobic, and lives a lonely life running an animal shelter, where he tends to the dogs and cats like children. Pete comes in to adopt an animal and they slowly bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Dog Tales

It wasn’t that Patrick didn’t like people – he had friends and he kept in contact with his family and everything – it’s just that he never really knew what to do around them. Even if a person was friendly and chatty, he could never seem to find the right things to say to them. He thought of it as a sort of curse he had; as if he were doomed to never have the right words, jinxed into being withdrawn. A social worm among social butterflies. (His metaphors were really no good, either.) This is why he opened the animal shelter.

He could never forget the look in his mother’s eyes when he said he was going to open the shelter. She had always wanted Patrick to grow out of his shyness and get out into the world. She wanted Patrick to be happy and surrounded by friends. She could not understand the Patrick didn’t need a lot of friends to be happy. She didn’t know that the animals were his friends, and that he surrounded himself with them every day – taking in the sick, the old, the abused, the ones that other shelters would normally put down – and he took care of them. It made him happy. It gave him satisfaction, a sense of purpose.

Though few people visited, Patrick was always busy. He even lived at the shelter so he could keep a watch on the animals, even after hours. There was always a cage to clean, an animal to feed, some medication to give, dogs to let out, dogs to let in, animals to play with to work off all their energy… It was a full-time job.

 

In other words, the shelter was his life. It was lonely, but fulfilling. People walked in and out of it almost every day, but few were worthy of remembering.

A tiny black-and-tan miniature pinscher loped up to Patrick and barked, startling him out of his thoughts. Patrick smiled down at the puppy. He didn’t love playing favorites, but this one had always stood out to him. The puppy’s name was Frankie. A girl had brought him by the shelter and claimed she found him under a dumpster, shivering against the Chicago winter.

Back then he was frail and sickly and young. His boney ribs were in sharp contrast with the wiry muscles he developed, but his paws were always just a little too big for his body. His ears were not cropped, but his tail was docked, though Frankie didn’t seem to notice; he was always wiggling the stump as fervently as if he had a proper one. He also didn't seem to mind that he was smaller than most of the other dogs, which lead to quite a few rescue attempts when he pushed Duke, the short-tempered rottweiler, too far.

“Ready to go inside?” Patrick said to the dog, and Frankie jumped excitedly.

Patrick let out a shrill whistle as he opened the door, summoning a herd of dogs to come running and crowd themselves into the door. All except for Carol, the brown husky-malamute mix breed, who didn’t move from the corner she was laying in.

“Come on, Carol. Inside,” he ordered in his most commanding tone.

Carol did a fantastic job of ignoring him completely. Patrick sighed and went to stand over her, glaring hard. “Inside, Carol,” he said, nudging her lightly with his foot.

She gave him an exasperated glance from the corner of her one blue eye, the brown one staring scarred and unseeing straight ahead. Patrick was told it was the result of an ill-fated encounter with a fox, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for her at the moment. Not when she simply huffed and dropped her head onto her paws. Confused dogs were wandering back to the yard, and Patrick was losing his patience. “Fine, we’ll go in without you,” he said finally, motioning for the dogs to go back inside.

When he went inside as well, Carol trotted right past him. He shook his head and closed the door behind them. After he herded the dogs into their respective kennels and after braking up a fight between Chester and Molly, the twin Yorkies, he headed back to the front desk to take a well-deserved rest. He stopped short, though, when he noticed there was a man browsing around the kittens. The man stopped to poke a finger into a cage, a huge smile playing across his face. Patrick adjusted his hat subconsciously as he mustered the courage to talk to the guy. It didn’t help that he was hot. Not the conventional hot either, like one would expect from a high school jock or a businessman, but a darker hot – almost a dirty hot. There was no way Patrick would ever have the courage to talk to him, he was sure of it.

That is, until he recognized the cage the guy had stuck his finger into. “Wait!” Patrick cried, “don’t—”

The guy swore and recoiled, his finger dripping dark red at the tip.

Patrick rushed over to him, apologizing profusely. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? Is it bleeding? Do you need a band aid?”

The answers came back in a jumbled rush as the man tried to keep up with the questions. “It’s okay. No, I’m fine. Kind of, I guess. No, I’m okay…” Patrick was gone by the time he finished though, and he laughed when Patrick reappeared with a first-aid kit. “Dude, stop freaking out. I feel like I’m supposed to turn into a were-cat or something.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said again as dabbed Neosporin on the injured finger. “It’s just... Nutmeg, that cat… He hates men and he’s always hurting people. Most guys don’t take it very well.”

“Don’t apologize,” the guy chuckled. “It just bruised my ego a bit, that’s all. I don’t really like cats anyway.”

Patrick looked up after he bandaged the cut. “Then… why were you looking at them?” he asked, then silently berated himself for asking such a stupid question. It wasn’t any of his business.

The guy smiled again and wow, he had a great smile. “Couldn’t find the dogs,” he explained. “I’m Pete, by the way,” he added, extending his uninjured hand.

“Oh,” Patrick said, staring at the outstretched hand for a moment before realizing he was meant to take it. “Um… Patrick. I am, I mean. You know.”

“Cool,” Pete replied, then stood silently for a moment.

Patrick shifted under his expectant gaze. What did he want now?

“Dogs?” Pete reminded, smirking a little.

Patrick straightened. “Right. Um...” He spun full circle, then beckoned Pete to follow him. “Yeah. I just let them in. This way.”

Patrick really didn’t mean to stare as Pete roamed the rows of dogs, but he couldn’t really help it. Even if he wasn’t as hot as he was, Pete still had this sort of... posture. Something about the way he held himself demanded attention, yet remained open and friendly. Patrick had never seen anything like it.

It was only when Pete looked back at him that Patrick flicked his eyes away, biting his lip. “So how long have you worked at this shelter?” Pete asked, going back to wandering the cages.

“Oh, um. I opened it. Own it. Live here, really.”

Pete made an interested humming noise. “Sounds lonely.”

Patrick shuffled his feet. “I like it. Being alone I mean. Well, the shelter too, but– I mean, I’m just… withdrawn. A little. A lot. Sort of.”

Pete met his eyes, smiling warmly. “You’re nice, you know that?” he said. “There aren’t enough people like you. You should go share that with the world.”

“T-thanks,” Patrick stuttered as color flooded his cheeks. “I mean, yeah. I guess. Um.” Patrick looked about, searching for a distraction. Dogs. Good enough. “Can I, um… May I make a suggestion?”

Pete nodded and Patrick led him to Frankie’s kennel. The chemistry was immediate. Frankie jumped up to latch his paws onto the bars of the gate, and Pete burst into a radiant grin, falling to his knees to play with Frankie through the bars.

“What’s this one’s name?” Pete asked, playfully poking at the dog’s feet, pulling away right before Frankie nipped excitedly at the finger.

Patrick took a breath and prepared to rattle off the well-practiced bio on Frankie, but he only got out “This is Frankie. He’s a—” before Pete cut him off with a laugh.

“Frankie? Really?”

The laugh had no malice in it at all, but Patrick still had the urge to shrink back a step. “You can change his name if you don’t—”

Pete waved a hand, interrupting Patrick again. “No the name is fine. It’s just that I know this guy…” he shook his head, still chuckling. “Never mind. May I play with him?”

Patrick didn’t answer. He just opened the gate and watched Frankie barrel out from the cage, slamming square into Pete’s chest, flipping over, spinning around, then finally settling on Pete’s lap as he rubbed behind the dog’s ears enthusiastically. It dawned on Patrick then that Frankie had found his owner. Patrick would never see him again.

Though the thought hurt, he accepted it gracefully as he handed the paperwork and said his goodbyes to Frankie. Pete gave one last wave when he got to his car.

“Take good care of him,” Patrick whispered as Pete pulled away.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

 

Life at the shelter went on, though Frankie’s absence was very, very present. Patrick would often find himself staring at his empty kennel as if he expected Frankie to randomly appear. Some of the dogs felt it too, staring up at Patrick with sad eyes and a drooped tails.

He gradually came to accept it though, knowing that he made the right decision. Frankie deserved a new home, and that’s just what he got. Patrick was ready to move on. Just when he decided that, though, something happened that he didn’t expect: Pete came bounding into the shelter one day, Frankie in tow.

“Hey, Patrick!” Pete chirped as he leaned over the counter, his smile wide and open. Patrick wished he could smile like that.

Without his permission, his mouth spewed, “Is there something wrong?”

 

Pete seemed taken aback by the question. “Wrong? Does there has to be something wrong for me to want to see you?”

Patrick’s cheeks heated up. “I guess not, but…” Patrick glanced down at Frankie. He looked just fine; he was moving restlessly, nipping at Pete’s shoelaces and wagging his stump of a tail.

“He seemed a little upset without you,” Pete explained, “so I figured I’d drop by so he could say ‘hi’.” Frankie yipped in agreement.

Patrick rounded the counter and dropped to his knees to receive the leaping dog. He laughed softly when the puppy wiggled onto his lap and flipped over, tummy exposed.

“I missed you,” Patrick told Frankie as he rubbed his belly.

From the corner of his eye, Patrick caught Pete grinning. “I can tell.”

Patrick looked pointedly away from him. “I miss every animal that leaves here. I just… I really liked Frankie.”

“Okay, now I feel terrible for taking him from you,” Pete said. Patrick could feel his frown.

“Don’t,” Patrick said quietly, and he meant it. “I wouldn’t have shown him to you if I didn’t believe that you deserved him, or that he deserved you.”

Pete crouched so that his eyes were level with Patrick’s. “He deserves you too.” He pulled out a business card and pushed it into Patrick’s hand. “Call me. Come by and see him some time.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Patrick protested as Pete stood.

“You won’t be,” Pete said simply. “I would love to have you around.”

Patrick’s face grew hot at that. He distracted himself by saying goodbye to Frankie as Pete prepared to leave. “You will call me, won’t you?” Pete asked, his eyes begging.

Patrick gave a non-committal shrug. “Maybe. I might.”

Pete cocked a hip jokingly. “I will visit you every day until you do, and don’t think I won’t. You will get so sick of me, I promise.”

Patrick didn’t answer, only smiling as Pete left. He wouldn’t call for a few days.


End file.
